


And yet

by Oienel



Category: Korean Actor RPF, Korean Drama
Genre: Age Difference, Age Swap, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, F/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 14:31:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9389324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oienel/pseuds/Oienel
Summary: You've promised yourself that you'd keep your guard up.And yet.





	

It wasn’t supposed to be like that.

You’ve told yourself so many times that you won’t end up like that. That you will keep your guard up, that you’ll focus on what’s important, you’ll never have an error in your ways, nothing will cloud your judgment.

And yet, here you are.

You’ve gotten this job first thing out of school. You spent years with a single goal in your mind. Through high school, college, university – you put all your effort to achieve that. You made sure not to jeopardize this along the way, and you vowed not to endanger this position in the future.

And yet, here you are.

You’ve got your own office, small and cramped, now even more so since you decided to clutter it up, using every possible space as a makeshift bookcases. Or rather you just stacked books upon books on the window sill, counters, floor. You have promised yourself that you’d use your free time to clean all this mess up.

And yet, here you are.

You’ve got your classes. Fresh-faced freshmen, living-their-life sophomores, not-really-caring juniors, and please-help-us seniors. You did your best to memorize every name on your list, you did your best to be out there for them, you did your best not to pick favorites.

And yet, here you are.

It’s not really your fault. Or at least you are not the only one at fault here. You’ve tried to keep your promises, to ignore the improper interest, to dismiss it as healthy curiosity. More than once you found yourself rolling your eyes in the middle of the lecture, or saying condescendingly _thank you for your insight._

And yet, here you are.

Hot and sweaty, your clothes sticking to your skin, your back sliding on the doors. Your body keeps them closed.

You have to give him that. He was persistent. Surprisingly so, considering his handsome face, with boyishly uneven eyes, quick tongue, wit that helped him through classes, and body of a ancient Greek Olympics’ athlete.

Except for his cock. It was nothing like those Greek statues.

And so, with nature’s gifts like that, he could have had any. Every girl in your classroom was pining for him, and had you been student, you would as well. But you are not, and you promised yourself that you wouldn’t become victim to his charms.

And yet, here you are, with his cock buried up to hilt in your body, alien fingers sinking into your thigh, breath tickling your ear, his body shielding you from outside world.

And yet, here you are, with your hand on his nape, absentmindedly yanking little hairs on the back of his head, and the other seeking purchase on the door’s knob.

And yet, here you are trying to contain your whimpers, and failing miserably, when he delivers particularly accurate thrust, tearing out a surprised yelp from your throat.

“Professor.” He says lowly, and you know that it’s deliberate. It’s a cheap tactic to make you more riled up, usually working on college girls.

But not you, you are already past that point…

_Who are you kidding, it’s working._

“Yeah?” Level of eloquence worthy of National University’s lecturer. But you are not about to be embarrassed about that, especially when your breath hitches, when your student’s hand slides up from your thigh and his fingers knead into your ass’ cheek.

He seems to be enjoying himself a notch too much.

“You…” He whispers, making it a point to fan the shell of your ear with his breath. And to punctuate his word with a forceful thrust, that kicks air out of your lungs. “… should be quiet.”

“Just like you in class.” You manage without any pause, and you are proud of yourself. Because as wrong as it is, he knows perfectly what he is doing, he has probably fucked fair share of girls before ending up in your office, among books, fucking you against the doors.

“Professor…” He says, with a hint of reprimand in his voice, and that’s _fucking_ hot. For the first time since entered you, you look him in the eyes. They are glowing, as if he was containing his laughter. “You shouldn’t be like that.”

Even as he says that his breath is falling short. You can already feel warmth and pleasure pooling in your gut, so forgiving in the face of so many broken vows. You spasm in his hold, emitting low moan, your eyes fluttering shut.

His hips falter, and it brings you a dose of satisfaction, the knowledge that you can make him flustered just by being wanton.

“Professor, there are people outside your door – you wouldn’t want them to hear you.”

He may be bluffing, he may be not. You are not coherent enough to care, but the warning is valid – anyone could walk past your office, or even try to seek out to you, and could hear you in such compromising position.

Hand fisted in his hair brings his head forward, and you kiss him, shutting him up, shutting you up. He goes into the kiss eagerly, with a vigor of a boy that not so long ago was restricted only to kissing.

On the beginning of this meeting his kisses were tentative, unsure whether you will or won’t throw him out. But he still pushed you back with all his eagerness. Now he was kissing you rough, raw, taking your lips into his possession, like a man that has finally got his prize.

And he did, didn’t he?

You realize that you miss his voice, that his speaking, as juvenile it was, made you wetter, made it better. Or maybe the unconscious knowledge that someone might be just outside your doors. Maybe.  You want him to speak up, to taunt you, maybe even patronize you, to try to verbally force his power over you.

You might be inclined to submit.

Or maybe you would fight.

But you want to hear him stretch the vowels, roll the consonants on his tongue, to tickle your skin with every word, with every slow, and somehow shaken exhale.

You want him to lose his words as he fuck you, you want him to fight for his breath, you want him to try to focus so he can deliver one more sentence.

He groans, rumbling sound reverberates in your office, and you realize it’s too late for that. He lost his coherence a while ago, he wouldn’t be able to speak even if he wanted to.

He crowds you against the door, and fucks hard and desperate, and juvenile, and it’s not enough. He is eager, agile, strong, but you can feel him rushing for his pleasure, when you are still far behind.

He comes, just like that, with a groan lodged deep in his chest.

And yet, here you are.


End file.
